I’ve always been fond of dancing. I still tease my mom because she didn’t enroll me in dance when I was a youngster. I mean, can’t you visualize me in a tight little number stomping gliding across a wooden floor?

High school dances proved problematic. The dancing part was a riot but I usually wound up in tears because some boy liked some other girl and I was just ‘that girl guys like to be friends with’.

Over time, I still found ways to dance. I love music. I feel like I have some sort of melody always humming in the depths of my soul. So, naturally, my body wants to move to the beat. I also – yes, even at 32 – still like to listen to what the old folks call “teeny bopper music”. I frequently jam out in the car to songs on 103.3 and then promptly download any faves on iTunes so the next time I clean, I can shimmy as I vacuum to my favorite playlist appropriately titled ‘Closet Pop Fan’.

Thankfully, I found a real outlet almost two years ago now … Zumba. There are few words to describe my love for Zumba. It’s a combination of the best high school dance (minus the ridiculous dresses) with a serious workout class (with ridiculous skirts). Oh, and for 30% of the time, hip hop music reigns. For me, this is a glimpse of what Heaven might be like.

Anyway, little did I know how pivotal a role Zumba would play in getting me through some really dark days. There was absolutely no way I could walk into a class and not leave an hour later feeling completely different … more relaxed … better.

I often felt like I was wearing a smile when the inside of me was doing anything but over this past year, but when I went to Zumba, I was smiling. It was real and there was no denying it. I mean, how could I not smile? There are MIRRORS. It’s funny to watch your own tail feather shake like no one else is watching. (Oh Lord, hopefully they aren’t watching). I suggest anyone going through a rough time take a Zumba class, or seventy. I guarantee you’ll love it. In fact, I dare you not to.